


What To Do If You Find A Man Playing Fiddle In The Middle Of The Night

by LocalRamblingHousePlant



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Folklore, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Monsters, Original Fiction, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:55:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27134173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LocalRamblingHousePlant/pseuds/LocalRamblingHousePlant
Summary: A wandering human finds themselves in the company of a lake spirit, and has a choice to make.
Kudos: 3





	What To Do If You Find A Man Playing Fiddle In The Middle Of The Night

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics are the first verse of Gaelynn Lea's "Someday We'll Linger In The Sun", please check out the song that inspired this fic! As well as the folklore of the Nøkken!

The night wind is chill, the air frosted with the coming of winter as the trees howl with the breeze. The paths of the dense forest of pine seem to twist and turn, finding themselves crossing together and apart again. This forest, they say, is cursed. Those who wander into its eaves often never see the outside of it again, or so the legends go. Some wander in accidentally, some go in hunting, and some willingly get lost to rid themselves of their sorrows. Those who disappear are said to have been taken by a beast in the middle of the forest, hungry for the victims he claims and drowns in a cursed lake at the very heart of the wood.

But they know not the truth.

One such poor soul wandered the wood tonight, tears flowing down their cheeks as they attempted to leave their life behind. It’s always so heartbreaking to see someone so without hope that they willingly decide the world would be better without them- or at the very least, that running is their only option.

The human blindly wanders, not knowing if they will eventually make a home here, or if there will be respite in death’s cold embrace for them. All they know is that they do not care. They’ve been wronged by another, his hands too rough, his words too cruel. They ran in the middle of the night, hoping never to return, but… he followed behind. Trying to trail them.

As they wander, their heart heavy and body weary from walking for so long, they hear the faintest notes of a melody begin to play. A fiddle…? In the middle of the forest? Why would someone be playing well past midnight? It’s quite a beautiful, but sad tune, with such a comforting melancholy.

They follow, their sadness momentarily vanishing with confusion replacing it. They even forgot their pursuer, as their ears and feet guide them to the source.

The grass slowly turns to moss and reeds, a thick carpet of autumn leaves mingled with pine needles laying over the forest floor. They almost seem to cushion from the sharp stones, which soon turn smooth from water tumbling them about and washing them ashore. The smell of honey and well worn shores soon reaches them, and they gawk.

It is the lake, in the middle of the wood.

They almost bolt, confusion turning to fear, when the melody rings out again. Now, a voice sings, accompanied by lyrics. 

"Our Love's a complex / vintage wine,  
All rotted leaves / and lemon rind,  
I'd spit you out, / But now you're  
Miiiiine..." 

They turn to see a man standing in the shallows of the lake, playing the fiddle slowly, and singing along with its somber tune. Both his playing and his song were immeasurably beautiful. 

He turns, and in the light of the moon, the figure is revealed. Long cinnamon colored hair woven with long vines and leaves is pulled back into a ponytail that hangs over his shoulder, sweeping over a ruffled ivory blouse and dark vest. His black breeches are pulled up close to his knees, so the silvery buttons didn't slip below the water. His ears point upwards, and his eyes remain closed even as he turns to face them. His skin looks like oaken bark, both in tone and texture, and his playing slows. 

"Oh...! A visitor. I do not often receive visitors here at my lake... Who are you?" His tone is soft, kind, and he gives them a calm smile. They are unsure whether to trust him or not, warily looking him up and down.

"I..." They tremble, looking between him and the forest, as if looking for someone. Alert. Afraid.

"Oh, don't be nervous. I don't bite... Usually." He chuckles, though it's sweet and gentle. "Only to those who are a threat. And you, my dear... You do not appear to be a threat." 

The leaves rustle, as their pursuer grows closer. 

His smile drops. "But that man is, isn't he...?" The creature steps forward, and the human steps back. But out of the forest, harsh footsteps grow closer. 

"Please... I won't hurt you. Take my hand. I promise, no harm will come to you. You must trust me, just this once, and I will keep you safe." 

They have a choice to make, as he holds out his hand. Would they trust someone they know is cruel, or someone they don't know at all...? 

Their hand grips his, and it's as if they're holding onto a mossy branch. Firm, but soft at the same time. He gently leads them behind him, and his head turns to see the other human crashing through the forest. 

"There you are..." He grumbles, looking furious, and his expression turns even angrier when he sees the creature. "And with another man-!? Why, you ungrateful little-" 

"Stop right there." The creature's voice has gone from sweet and honey coated, to raspy and guarded. It's so different, as he stretches out the arm holding the violin's bow. 

"Leave this sacred place, human, for you do not know the ground that you walk upon, nor do you deserve it." 

"-!? Who the hell do you think you are, jackass? Get outta my way! This isn't your concern!" He tries his best to move past, but the spirit turns, and his eyes open. The human behind him can't see his eyes, but the pursuer can, and the color drains from his face. 

"What the HELL?!" 

"Leave this place, or suffer endless agony, insolent human. Your aggression and violence shall NEVER be accepted in a place of hallowed rest and reprieve. If you come back, you will have your eternal rest at the BOTTOM of my lake, understand?" The musician growls, before playing a note on his violin. To the protected human, they hear only a simple plain note, at worst a little shrill. 

But the man trying to reach them covers his ears, yelping in pain, and turning heel as he runs in terror. 

They almost cling to the spirit's back, looking up in worry. "W... Who... What are you?" They ask, shaking. 

He turns, and his eyes are closed again. His voice lowers back to that soft sweetness again, to reassure them. "I am... A protector. One who gives peace to those who need it. I am called Willow, and this lake is mine. Your kind may know me as a Nøkken." 

They gasp, stepping back and out of the water. "YOU'RE the beast of the lake...?!" 

"Now, now, there's no need for such rude names..." He looks hurt, a hand resting on his chest as if shielding from an emotional wound. "They are naught but rumors, I assure you. Did I not protect you a moment ago...?" He asks carefully, a kind look crossing his features. 

They think, looking down. "I... I mean... You did, but..." 

He smiles. "Then I have done my duty, have I not...?" 

"I... I guess so... But what about the..." 

"The disappearances...? The 'drownings'? Helpless victims eaten alive by the terrible oh-so-scary lake spirit?" He smirks, voice playful. 

"Y-Yeah..." 

"Well... There have been disappearances. And there have been drownings. That much is true. But... It is not what you think." He sits, and begins to play a soft song as he speaks. As if to add his own ambience, the music is slow, careful.

"Some of my kin are malevolent. But... Not all of us can be judged as so. The only ones who drown here, dear... Are those that deserve it. Murderers, abusers, child nappers... And the like of the Earth's very worst ilk." Willow looks over, without opening those eyes, and it's almost as if he can see them without looking. 

"Those like you, however..." His tune turns sweeter, higher. "The broken, the weary, the exhausted... They find rest here. A village, not too far from this lake that can always find it again, that's where those who disappear from the horrors of life are." He slows his tune and stops playing. 

"And, from the look of you, it seems you are one of those very rare broken spirits..." He reaches forward, and finds their hand, taking it. 

"Even if you only stay for a short while, you finding me meant you were meant to be here. So perhaps, even if it is just a nap or a moment to breathe... Perhaps we can keep each other company, little love." He smiles and they blush. 

"I... What happens if I don't?" 

"Well, you are free to leave when you wish. But... My sole, chosen purpose in life is to give people a place of rest, of peace. And it seems like you might need that. So... Whatever you decide is right. However, know that if you leave here... You may never find this place again. And I would be sad to see such a poor soul still wandering the wood." 

They think, but it's so late, and everything seems to be weighing on them. 

"We could even just... Talk. I just like the company." Willow smiles a bit, and moving back a bit to let them have space. 

And so... They begin to talk. The Nøkken listens carefully, responding when needed and playing soft music along to their words. Maybe sometimes they vent, sometimes they speak quietly of things they wish for, and sometimes they don't speak at all. He listens to every word, a soft smile on his face. 

Soon, the sun is coming up, and he lowers himself into the water a bit, fiddle disappearing underneath the lake. "My dear... It's been all night, and you have not slept. You should rest if you can..." 

They nod, eyes dropping heavily before they fall asleep on the moss by the lake, as Willow watches over them and protects them, his fiddle playing a lullaby to soothe them as the sun comes up. 

They say that a beast roams the wood, looking for victims to steal away, to drown in his lake. 

But they know not the truth, that the spirit of the lake protects and defends, that he cherishes those who stay by his lake, even for just a short time. 

And perhaps it is best that way.


End file.
